Head Held Up High
by chraezanty1317
Summary: Johanna Mason and Primrose Everdeen are invited for an interview at Caesar Flickerman's show during the 65th and 74th Hunger Games, respectively. Johanna holds her head up high and voices her opinion, no matter the consequences. Prim needs to have the Capitol on her side. How else will Katniss survive if the audience comes to hate the one she so selflessly sacrificed herself for?
1. Johanna

_AN: _I may be mixing up the books' timeline here, but in this, Johanna's Games took place two years before Finnick's, so the 65th HGs are the ones Finnick won. I simply needed an excuse to write about her because she's one of my favorite characters.

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**65th Hunger Games**

"Please welcome your host, ladies and gentlemen: Caesar Flickerman!"

Johanna Mason steps onto the stage's podium and grimly looks around the glorious auditorium. It is packed with people frantically waving and _begging_ to be made fun of. Why do the Capitol residents think they are superior to those from District 7 again? Turquoise skin, drinking potions to make you throw up so you can jollily stuff yourself in unhealthy measure while the rest of Panem is starving?

_Oh, that's right._, she finds herself thinking as she meets Caesar halfway, allowing him to kiss her hand. She smiles cooly, outwardly soaking up the attention as the audience's cheers become a deafening roar when meanwhile it becomes increasingly harder to swallow her anger. Anger at the Capitol, at President Snow, at her stylist from two years before (trees, _again_), at Finnick for carrying on the bloody Career tradition to volunteer.

She bites her tongue, drawing blood, but at least she manages to keep her mouth shut. _I'd still love to tell all of them that we would use their priceless designer costumes as rags at the most even if they begged us on their knees to accept them. We have pride and a sense of self-consciousness._

Johanna graces a little violet-skinned girl, who seems to be a special fan, with a wave and grin. Her repulsion and disgust at the whole affair contrasted with the girl's innocence only allows for old frustrations and sadness to resurface, so she grits her teeth and concentrates on the task at hand: doing a friend a favor.

"So, Johanna! We haven't heard from you in quite a while. What have you been up to? Any breathtaking romance worth mentioning?" Caesar winks at her, leading her to the two comfortable armchairs appearing in the middle of the stage all of a sudden.

The woman in question sits down and suppresses a laugh. It would have been cynical, but then again, as that state of mind had become her reality since her victory, it at least would have been honest. Unlike the clear, high-pitched sound which comes out of her mouth.

"Oh, believe me, no one could ever expect a guy to put up with me." _Everybody avoids me, expecting a cold-blooded killer. A ticking time bomb endangering the whole of District 7. They celebrate my victory and claim to be proud, even bragging, but a romance? Becomes impossible the second you hear your name being called at the Reaping, followed by silence as no one volunteers to take your place. Doesn't matter if you end up dead or alive._

Caesar manages to calm down his now maniacally laughing viewers by responding. "I don't think this is true, but let's not linger here. We all know why you are here tonight. You seem to get along with Finnick Odair-" The deafening roar starts again, only it is increased by a thousandfold. Johanna thinks she can see a sympathetic glint in Caesar's eyes - he is probably annoyed by his interview soon being cut for time. This triviality - _excuse me, his grave problem_ - is nearly enough for her to stop her blood from boiling at every reminder of the Games' existence. Never really enough.

"Just fine.", her host finishes as if nothing had happened.

Johanna shrugs. "Yes, I suppose so. He's one of the good ones."_ Which does not mean a whole lot among this company, by all means._

"Since you have won the 63rd Games and have become an expert on these things, do you have any predictions for us? He's only fourteen, after all. Does he have any chance of becoming the victor?", Caesar asks. Meanwhile, the crowd of mindless barbarians goes wild again, soaking up every word that stands in any relation to Finnick.

She keeps her head up high, never once backing down. The Capitol had wanted to break her once and had not succeeded - she would never let that change. They had no control, much as they talked themselves into believing this nonsense. "Judging the obsession everyone seems to have with him, he's about set to survive. As handsome and athletic as he is, there is no way people are going to let him die unless they want riots and insane fans murdering the Games Maker. Also, his age doesn't matter. A sword doesn't exactly make a distinction between a twelve-year-old and an eighteen-year-old. Weapons slice through all of their heads just the same. Blood is blood."

Johanna pauses and puts on her best concerned expression. "Is everything alright, Caesar?", she asks, sarcasm dripping from her words as she watches with malicious glee as he has become more and more pale with every sentence she uttered.

His daze does not last long. "Perfectly. Finnick seems confident enough and is one of the favorites, hm? Obviously, I'm not taking any sides, folks! Still, no matter what happens, we wish both Mr Odair and Miss Mason all the luck in the world!" A flash of his brilliant smile is enough for the atmosphere to change - taut at the rebellious assertion, cheery the next moment.

The crowd roars in blind agreement as a blue-haired man does everything but shoo Johanna off the stage.

She smiles to herself. Cleaning her face of multiple layers of makeup, she feels better than she has in days, adrenaline rushing through her body.

This interview would be memorable, get Finnick even more sponsors than he already had and majorly anger President Snow. Mission Accomplished.


	2. Prim

AN: Remember how in Catching Fire (the scene with the jabberjays in the arena) Peeta mentioned that once only about eight tributes are left in the Games, their family and friends are interviewed? This is my interpretation of Prim's interview.

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**75th Hunger Games**

"Please welcome your host: Caesar Flickerman, ladies and gentlemen!"

Prim was blinded and overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people even before she went on stage. On air, live, for all of the Capitol to see. Out in the open like the deer and squirrels her sister shot each day to help them survive, the arrow piercing straight through the animal's eye. Knowing her fondness for animals, Katniss had always told her that they had never known what hit them.

A quick death - that was supposed to be a good thing, wasn't it?

The mental imagery had made it impossible to directly face the audience - she felt as if she would have seen the sea of faces with an arrow through each of them, drawing gallons of blood. She would not have been able to stand it.

"Primrose Everdeen! How does it feel to have such a famous sister?" Caesar was nice enough - he had undeniable charisma that had made even her own hate towards the Games and everything they represented subside. Until he opened his mouth, showing off gloriously white teeth, to ask her a question that brutally yanked her out of her walk down memory lane. A harmless one too, or at least so they would have it seem.

_They never knew what hit them. Just like us. She could be dying as we speak._

The blonde girl smiled politely, feeling like an accomplished and seasoned actress. "I wish she wasn't - so many people paying attention, it makes me uncomfortable and becomes annoying. We'd all prefer to have her at home where she will be away from the limelight."

She hardly recognized her own voice - her mind was far away, somewhere in District 12 where she spent her days watching the Games with Gale keeping her company. She knew he suffered at least as much as she did and had unconsciously slipped into Katniss' role of keeping their mother out of a catatonic state of shock that had made her more of a shell than a human being after the tragic death of their father. _Maybe that's why Katniss doesn't like to sing anymore. She had always used to, only it's a reminder of what has been. No one would want to look back if they were left to choose_, the thought having just occured to her.

(Before she had gone out for the interview, she had met with Haymitch.

_"Hey there, sweetheart.", Prim heard him murmur as he hugged her tightly. As it turned out, they did not have much time for a heartfelt reunion - that was what it felt like, even though they had never been formally introduced before - after he released her. This had a variety of reasons, both practical and 'made up by the Capitol to torment them all' - in the old victor's own words - that had left her head as soon as Haymitch had finished listing them._

_He had coached her similar to her sister, unbeknowst to her. "You know who it is we're talking about. Those people in the audience don't want tears and desperate pleas - they got enough of that in the arena, there's never a shortage. What they love is celebration of this glorious event, gratitude and humbility at being chosen to compete and humour, or at least their version of it. You have to be aloof and snarky to keep them off your back. Give them the impression that there's no way Katniss won't come back. It might just get her sponsors, too, if the Capitol takes a liking to you. You'll have to make them understand why anyone would ever take your place in the Games, aside from blood bounds. Do you understand?"_

_Prim had nodded, somehow finding it easier to veil her thoughts. It probably had a lot to do with the fact that she did not know for certain what she was feeling. Being given a direction to pursue made it easier.)_

Some part of her registered the deafening laughs from both the audience and Caesar, although she could not fathom why she had gotten that particular reaction. She still felt glad, even as her body went numb and her lips moved mechanically to grin.

"We've got a tough one here. But what else would we expect from the breathtaking sister of the girl on fire?", Caesar cried out, facing the crowd, who responded with tempestuous applause. Prim suppressed the urge to cover her ears to drown out the noise and leaned back in her chair.

Soon, she found herself recounting - very roughly, as not to endanger any inhabitant of District 12 who was not strictly following the law - her daily routine. Her flow of words did not seem to coax a negative reaction out of the Capitol crowd, much to her relief.

"So, just between you and me, do you wonder how it all would have unraveled if you had been the one to enter the Hunger Games? From time to time? It'll be our little secret, I promise." Caesar winked at her, his eyes reflecting the stage's lightning.

Prim kept the smile plastered on her face. "You could say that." _Every night every day every minute-_

Caesar laughed. "I suppose that's only natural. One does not get to be broadcasted on national TV every day. I'm sure it definitely would have been something special. Who knows, maybe you will join as a tribute sometime in the future! What do you think, folks?" He turned to the audience, which was mindlessly roaring. Prim felt sick to her stomach and pinched her arm to keep herself from laughing out loud like a madwoman. _No wonder the Capitol residents dye their skin turquoise. I've only spent a few hours here and already feel like I'm going crazy._

"But!", her host said loudly, managing the suddenly quiet audience like a trained puppy. It was obvious he held his viewers in the palm of his hands. "We only have so much time for each of our dear guests."

The crowd moaned in displeasure, accompanied by Caesar's almost mockingly sorrowful expression and shaking of his head. "I know, I know. We must bid goodbye to-", he grabbed hold of her hand, helped her stand up and stepped back to have a single spot of limelight shining on her, illuminating her beautiful blue dress, "- Primrose Everdeen! You shall be missed greatly!"

Spontanuously and completely unaware of what she had done until she ran straight into Haymitch (standing backstage with a glass of some drink she had never heard of in her life), she went over to Caesar and briefly hugged him.

It was not until she heard "Magnificent job, sweetheart." that she felt the tension leave her body. All the excitement and stress that had built up inside of her over the last few days was gone.

All of a sudden, Prim's legs gave out under her and she would have fallen if Haymitch had not caught her. "Come on.", he half-carried her across the corridor. "Wouldn't want to miss the newest evil trick the Gamemakers have thought of for your sister."

Weary as she was, she was grateful for his sarcasm and presence. "Do you think she'll win?" Her voice was quiet.

He hesitated. "She'd better. I've given up drinking for this, haven't I?"

_Maybe it's morbid_, Prim thought, _but why do I find this comforting? It's simply impossible for Haymitch to stop drinking if it doesn't mean success. _

They entered the living room to be greeted by Effie and Cinna just in time to watch the male District 8 Tribute being mauled by a wild animal that reminded Prim of a squirrel.

Haymitch smirked, as if reveling in memories, only his expression was distorted into a grimace.

The suspenseful atmosphere dissipated as Effie burst out, "Prim, I really love your dress! What fabric is it made of? Did you sew it yourself?"

Haymitch rolled his eyes. They were in for a long day.


End file.
